THOSE SUNDAY SUPPERS<br /> by Hayward J. Prince<br /> <br /> It had been a fun-filled afternoon of skating and playing hockey with my friends on Princeton's frozen bay. But the sun had slipped behind the hills some time ago and it was getting increasingly difficult to see the puck, so we grudgingly gave in to the inevitable and started to make our way home. We hated to stop playing, but took comfort in the thought that we could do it all again another day. We were also aware that it was high time to head toward shore because, no matter how thick the ice might be out in the bay, when we got closer to the beach the ice would be covered with water because of the movement of the tides. If we reached shore before dark we just might find a dry area leading to the beach, and we could avoid getting wet, frozen feet. <br /> After skating on to the snow-covered beach, most of the boys opted to remove their skates before walking around the harbour toward home. But since my house was so close to the bay, I decided to keep mine on and skate up the hill on the hard packed snow. In five minutes I found myself sitting on the woodbox in our warm porch, unlacing my skates.<br /> I don't think I had thought about food all afternoon or even what day it was, but now the aroma coming from the kitchen left no doubt in my mind that today had to be Sunday. My mother was standing over the hot wood stove, her face glowing brightly. My first words were always the same, "Hope you made lots of gravy." But then she always made more than enough, knowing that I liked all my veggies and meat smothered with that tasty stuff.<br /> Before long the whole family was gathered around the table enjoying a meal that was fit for kings, but in this case, Princes. There was beef, moose meat, corned beef, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, turnip and peas. Mom always sat on the side of the table close to the stove so she could fetch us seconds and, sometimes, thirds. Mom kept filling and re-filling our plates until we kids were ready to bust. Mothers are like that, thinking there could be famine tomorrow and her kids could go hungry. <br /> Because this was Sunday supper, I knew I had to leave a little room for dessert. Mom's next words were, "Would someone please get the jelly?" Princeton had no electricity back then, which meant we didn't have a refrigerator, so Mom meant she wanted one of us to fetch the jelly from a snow bank outside, where she had placed it to set earlier that day. Being the youngest in the family at that time, I jumped at any excuse to use the flashlight. So with flashlight in hand, I dashed out the door and soon found a bump in the glistening snow. Thankfully, our cat hadn't found it before I did.<br /> Jelly was a real treat for our family, because it was served only at Sunday supper. No matter what the flavour, whether it was strawberry, raspberry, orange or lime, they all tasted great, and there was the added fun of making it wobble in your dish.<br /> I have to confess that after supper the thought of having to do my homework for school the following day didn't arouse the same enthusiasm as chasing the puck or fetching the jelly, but I consoled myself with the thought that it wouldn't take too long, and there would always be more hockey games and more Sunday suppers to look forward to.<br /> The days of my youth soon turned to manhood, then came marriage and my own family. But the picture is the same today. Over the years, I've watched my wife Kay show the same love to our kids, Brian and Laurel, as my mother did for us, at mealtime always jumping up and down like a yoyo serving seconds and sometimes thirds, and whenever we have roast beef with all the trimmings, with jelly for dessert, those Sunday suppers sixty years ago come to my mind, a happy family and a mother's love.   Submitted By: Hayward Prince